left hands and wedding bands
by andsocanshe
Summary: "It's a first time but not the first time. It's their first time as husband and wife, and in a sense, it isn't all that different from any of the many other times." — "The Wedding Night" requested by anonymous. One-shot.


_Prompt__: darvey + first night as newlyweds_

_I don't write smut but… the only other alternative for this was what, board games? No. Which means I guess I'm being launched out of my comfort zone but that's not necessarily a bad thing._

_Enormous thank you to Heather (kalingswifts), Sam (swancharmings), and Liz (bentface) for encouraging me to try something new and for dealing with the ridiculous amount of anxiety I have posting this._

—

_left hands and wedding bands_

It's his shirt — _white_, haphazardly unbuttoned, her hands pulling it from his shoulders, forcing it down his arms — and her dress — _black_, his fingers brushing against her waist, reaching for the zipper, moving gently down her spine — on the hardwood floor, strewn from the entryway to the living room in reckless abandon. Her heels are lost by the kitchen island with his pants a few steps away while everything else creates the tell-tale path of need and want and desire.

It's a first time but not _the _first time. It's their first time as husband and wife, and in a sense, it isn't all that different from any of the many other times — especially not from the night months ago when they _finally _gave into what they are now. What they always wanted to be. But there is something heavier about this, more weighted and complete. Complete wholeness. The forever that was there all along is amplified, carried in a way that only two people who spent years fighting a gravitational pull could give and take.

They barely make it past the kitchen, let alone the living room and end up with just enough time to switch on the fireplace — the only light source in the room beyond the late night crawl of New York City — and grab a blanket off the couch before the _need _is too much. Skin on skin and tangled limbs with fingers anchoring each other to their new reality.

Donna's hair falls in a cascade around them as she straddles his lap, mussed red waves ignited by flames as she grinds against him — her arms wrapped around Harvey's neck, pulling him closer. Harvey kisses her deeply, moving in unison as one hand trails up her back and his fingers wander from her breast down her ribs. Her breath hitches once the unfamiliar metal on his left makes contact with her hip, a silent reminder of everything that has changed and all that they have built. Together.

A moan — _his name_ — escapes her a mere beat later, Donna's hands threading through Harvey's hair and he _has _to hear that again. He'll never grow tired of hearing it.

The angle shifts just slightly in a way that hits impossibly more — his tongue tracing a pattern between her breasts and across her chest only to unpredictably divert from its' path, biting down on Donna's pulse point while he thrusts into her _harder_. His hand moves between them then, groaning as his fingers amble down her stomach and toward her center. They stop just at her clit as he'd intended, thumb leaving no room for mercy as Donna cries out.

"_Fuck_, Harvey."

He does it a second time, and a third, sending shivers down her spine as Donna arches against him. The moan that escapes her lips as her head falls back drives Harvey far enough that he almost loses every ounce of control, thrusting fast and impulsively. And then it's her turn to surprise him — regaining some semblance of her own, Donna crashes her mouth into his and rocks her hips _too _slowly. The pace of the kiss matches her movements, somehow messy yet gentle and slow enough that they're both overcome by the sensation — encompassed in sweat and the security of each other.

It's only a minute or two later that it all becomes too much to prolong; Donna's walls contract around him in an uncontrollable ripple, tightening as Harvey's movements become even more erratic, their hands wandering and grabbing for something to ground them in this lack of stability until they're both falling apart in entirety.

Their eyes lock as it comes to an end — brown meeting hazel with the flecks of gold that he's been lost in since the first time that they did this (_longer_) and the weight of the world flows and falters in the space between.

"I love you, Donna," Harvey's voice is hoarse but steadying, caught up the intensity and the realization that those three words will never mean enough when it comes to her.

She knows.

The look on Donna's face shifts between lust and love, settling with the magnitude that a statement that once felt so lethal now flows so easily. "I love you, Harvey."

Neither turn away.

The flickering from the fireplace catches Donna's ring then, the stone sparkling in the darkened room and she can't help but bite down on her bottom lip as an almost timid smile begins to form.

"Paulsen-_Specter_," she says in whispered epiphany.

Harvey grins, nodding at the combination that was always meant to be. His hand moves up to cup her cheek and he kisses her again, this time more innocent than the last but just as whole as Donna has always made him feel.

And in the end, she leads him toward the bedroom (his? theirs?) for the second round, left hands and wedding bands laced and intertwined; two halves of a whole through _this_ and _everything_ that comes next.

ღ

_Thank you for reading!_

_Comments and criticism are always welcome._


End file.
